Devil's Food
Lucifer has the abominable habit of purring politics, especially over dinner.
He would have to be damned near frozen before he'd be content
to hold a conversation about the weather.
Fortunately, I have unnaturally high tolerance for it,
and an indefatigable appetite.
"Don't get me wrong, precious," he raises his hand in earnest.
"I have nothing against Him,
I only wish my PR were half so good."
He pauses to let me talk
And twirl some angelhair with sun-dried tomato sauce
onto his fork.
"I do hope you won't be offended, lovely,
But you seem to spend a lot more time thinking about Him
Than He does about you."
He quirks a charming eyebrow.
"And the same doesn't apply to you?"
Some day I'll convince him to teach me how
to perfect that Cheshire grin.
"You and I, we're defined by our relationships to Him.
I wish it weren't true, darling, but it is.
You have just the tiniest glob of sauce on your chin."